Birds of a Feather
by DaniDM
Summary: Part 1 - Have you ever met someone who you just connected with? Someone who understood you and you them? Feels kind of nice, doesn't it? Henry and OC, R&R, Part 2 to follow.
1. Chapter 1 Connecting the Dots

**1 – Connecting the Dots **

I'd grown up in a rinky dink little town in the White Mountains of New Hampshire but really hadn't spent any discernible time in the States in over twenty-five years. It took five bullets and months in a hospital recovering for the Organization to send me back to where I really didn't want to be. I hated not having a choice. Bugger it. So, I made due. Once I got my "all clear" from the docs, I bought a reliable, little Ford Escort, a second-hand, ProLite Mini camper, somehow inherited a Black Lab named Sugar from a colleague, stuck seven pins in a map of the good ole USA – why seven? I don't know. Luck? - and figured I'd play connect the dots.

It was early March when I left The Secretariat in New York City: cold, wet, windy, slush. Not the dry heat I'd spent most of my time in in Kenya.

South. Head south to the warmth. First pin south was Georgia. Steer clear of the cities. I hate cities. Keep to the back roads if you can. Head through the southern states until the weather starts to warm. Play tourist. Why not? Not a whole lot else to do. They won't send me back to my job, my passion, what I'd spend my entire adult life doing. Not yet anyway.

"Give it time," they said. "Heal," they said. "You're home now. Enjoy," they said.

Home. My home was Kenya, whether it was the dusty, barrack-style base I shared with my team in the Mandera province on the Somalian-Ethiopian border, or the scattered villages I had spent years working in through the Rift Valley province, particularly in Laikipai, Maralal, or Nakuru, or the apartment the company held for me at headquarters in Nairobi, which I rarely used. It was the savannahs, the mountains, the reserves, the safaris, the people. That was home, not this. I had no one here. No friends. No family. No work. No purpose. Bitter? Ya, I was bitter, but I'm trying to take things in stride. Not a damn thing I can do about it, so I might as well just drive. Who knows what I'll find.

March saw me cruise through New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, and the Carolinas into Georgia. I made quick work of it. Wasn't into tourist mode yet. Just wanted to move. Stop for a night here, a few nights there. Unhitch the camper if I could. Motel it if I couldn't. Still kind of cold. Sightsee a bit. The coastline through New Jersey was interesting. Too touristy for me, though. Crossing Delaware into Maryland via a bridge then through the Blue Ridge Mountains into Virginia was the next step. The mountains were pretty; trees were covered with this wild plant called kudzu. Kind of looked like an overgrown rainforest. It hung from everything. Georgia was okay, but I just wanted to keep going.

Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona. The third pin was Arizona. I liked Arizona. It kind of looked like the savannah. Flat for the most part. Dry. Hot. All along the way, I watched the people. Listened to them. Got a handle on their beliefs, their politics if you will. Watched the way they dealt with each other. Some folks were nice, others just made me uncomfortable. In East Africa, you know what the dangers are. They're pretty obvious, and you're always on guard. Here, the dangers were more hidden and uncertain. I didn't understand the culture, so I kept to myself. That alone was a wakeup call, highly unusual for me. I had always been the first to offer a handshake or friendly word regardless of language or culture. Always the first to jump in to help. Not anymore. Too much had happened.

By the fifth pin, I was heading north into Wyoming, and getting tired. But, driving over the Rocky Mountains, through the Uinta-Wasatch-Cache National Forest in Utah sent a rush through me like I hadn't felt so far. Seeing the flatlands in the far distance as I came out of the foothills made my heart thud hard in my chest. It was something I couldn't explain, but made me smile for the first time in months.

Sugar and I pulled into a rest area off the I-80 just inside the Wyoming border. I let the dog out to pee and stretch her legs, gave her some water, grabbed a bottle for myself, and spread a state map over a vacant picnic table. Evanston was a few miles ahead. Had to take the highway through until I passed the city, but it didn't look too big, and the highways so far had been pretty empty. Shouldn't take long. I could go east again toward Cheyenne or travel north to the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone National Park. I smiled again. My father had talked about Yellowstone when I was a kid. He always wanted to bring us out here. My smile faded. Take advantage of the time you have. You, of all people, know how quickly it can change. Folding the map and tossing it onto the passenger seat through the open window, the dog and I hopped back in the car, drove through Evanston, taking a right at the first available exit, I-189 north. Yellowstone. Why not?

This is where I started to relax. It was the beginning of May. The weather was still pretty cool, at least for my thin blood, but a sense of peace and calm settled on me like a warm blanket. People were kind. They'd talk with you even while standing in line at the grocery store. Or, they'd stop to pat the dog and chat for a minute before continuing on their way. Strangers but it was easy. Nice. Familiar.

I stayed in Yellowstone for about a week before deciding to travel into Montana. Little Bighorn was too close not to visit. Native history had always been an interest. Plus, the landscape was calling me. Too much like Kenya. I was homesick.

It was on the way back into Wyoming when it happened. Detouring southeast off the I-90 on a deserted, stretch of back road, my car blew a tire.


	2. Chapter 2 - Distracted

**2 – Distracted **

No houses. No farms. Not a power line in sight. No cell phone service. Tall grass for as far as the eye can see and mountains casting giant shadows in the distance. Not a cloud in the pale blue sky. That had been what attracted me, distracted me, and now it was what trapped me. Damn.

Not like it was the first time I'd been stranded somewhere, but I usually had at least one of my team with me. We never went anywhere alone. At least I didn't have to worry about warlords or land mines or lions… I smiled at that. Kuru had been a cub when he first started hanging around the base. He came and went as he pleased but always seemed to know when I was back. The team used to joke that I was his momma because he'd follow me everywhere. He scratched me once while playing which left scars on my right arm, and every time he greeted me after that, he'd nuzzle the marks. Geez, I missed him.

Unhitching the camper and tying Sugar on a long leash, I started emptying the trunk to reach the spare tire. Stupid that they don't put these things in a more convenient place. Working the jack and raising the back end, driver's side, I considered just how tight the lug nuts might be. Did I have something to hit the tire iron with if they were stuck? I rotated my left shoulder and stretched my right side. The injuries that I was recovering from were still fresh enough to groan under pressure. Taking a swig of water from a warming bottle, I inhaled deeply, took hold of the tire iron and began to work.

The sun was high. Sweat dripped from the end of my nose and down my spine. Sugar had given up watching me to curl up in the shade of the camper. After an hour, I only had three nuts off and decided to take a break. Sitting beside the pup, leaning against the bumpy ridging of the camper, the ground began the rumble under my butt. Carefully standing, I saw the dust trail in the distance as a car drove toward us. Shielding my eyes from the glare, I stepped behind the car with the tire iron tight in my fist.

The white Ford Ranger with blue writing on the side came to a halt, and a man with dark skin, long black hair, and thin face stepped out taking position in front of his truck. He wasn't a tall man, but his scowl and uniform had my jaw and my grip tighten. Tribal police. Never a good sign. Where I was from tribal police meant one of three things – imprisonment, torture, or death. Warlords ruled. Appropriate reaction was survival. Read him.

"You're trespassing." His hands were on his narrow hips. His chin jutted out in my direction. Proud. Serious, but not entirely hostile. Tough.

"The land is beautiful." I rapidly read his body language and reverted to my training in diplomacy. _Be sincere, respectful. _"It's unmarred by human progress. Natural. My apologies, I didn't realize I was trespassing. I have a flat tire, and was trying to change it."

The officer leaned slightly to the right as if to confirm my situation. With his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, he slowly sauntered forward to examine my work. At this, Sugar stood and began to walk toward him. He startled but coolly recovered. I wanted to smile, to reassure him, but kept a sincere face and called "sit" to Sugar instead. She obediently sat, and the officer eyed the two of us carefully.

"She's gentle," I reassured.

He said nothing but wandered around the car while I back stepped keeping the car between us. He watched me curiously, his stone face never changing expression.

"Tire iron," he commanded, holding out his right hand palm up.

I paused but listened to my gut. Handing it over, I placed the straight end on the flat of his hand. He gripped it and silently went to work finishing my job.

Within the hour, the replacement tire was attached, the flat and jack were stored, and I was hitching up the camper.

I had handed him a wet cloth to wash his hands and offered him a cold bottle of water.

"Thank you," I said, a slow, friendly smile growing.

He nodded assent and took a long, deep drink, nearly finishing the water in one shot.

"Where were you heading?" he asked as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

"Not sure," I replied. "I've just come down from the Crow Reservation and the Little Bighorn Monument." I spread my map on the hot hood of the car, showing him where I had connected the dots so far.

He stood beside me looking at the map, his dark eyes following the lines.

"You're far from home," he said. "Dangerous. A woman alone. Anything can happen." His words were short but not threatening. More matter-of-fact.

I nodded. "I'm aware. More aware now since the tire." I grinned.

His lips twitched upward slightly before the serious line set in again.

"If you're looking to camp, most are still closed. There are a few free sites nearby that might be open, but I wouldn't recommend them. What are you're looking for?"

I smiled. This was the most he'd said since we'd met.

"Solitude," I replied. "Space. I don't like reaching out to touch my neighbor."

He smiled this time and nodded. "You might find something near the Big Horn National Park." He pointed at the map, drawing a line with his finger. "You're here. Follow this way. It's on the other side of the I-90. South end of the Big Horn Forest. Nearest town is Durant. You'll need to replace the tire." He pointed to the car.

I folded the map and untied Sugar, putting her in the back seat. "Thank you again." I reached out my hand.

He looked at it suspiciously then gripped it to shake once, letting go quickly.

"You're on Cheyenne land. Drive straight through. Don't stop. You should be fine." He waved me off as he strolled back to his truck, swinging the door open and sliding in.

With Sugar in her usual spot, windows rolled down, we headed off again.


	3. Chapter 3 - Tommy Trouble

**3 – Tommy Trouble**

Henry stood outside the Sheriff's office on Main Street, hands in the pockets of well-worn Levis, sleeves of his thick, red flannel shirt rolled up over a long-sleeved grey T. He tipped his golden face to the sky and closed his dark eyes enjoying the warmth. Maheo, The Creator, had blessed the day with a light breeze and sunshine. He smiled peacefully to himself.

Main Street was busy at this time of day. Cars, trucks, and pickups rolled by or lined the opposite sidewalk parked at forty-five degree angles to the curb - some with noses in, some with noses out, efficiently using the space along the town square, a beautiful grassy area with park benches and budding trees.

He heard the boy and his mother emerged from the Sheriff's station, the silence was almost deafening. They stopped not more than a few feet from where he rested near the lamp post; the mother, grim and tired; her mouth a thin line of annoyance at her son's internment by the county police. The boy, not more than thirteen, his hand pushed deep into the pockets of his low riding jeans, his baggy shirt at least two sizes too big, head down but a small smirk played on his lips. Arrogance of what he thinks he got away with. They quickly looked at Henry, the mother nodding briefly, the son rapidly losing the smirk before being pulled away to a beat-up, red pickup across the street. Henry watched as they wordlessly got in, the mother shooting the boy a harsh look, the boy staring at Henry through the cracked windshield before they pulled away.

Henry pushed himself forward meandering across to the park. He really ought to get back to work, but it was too nice out, and he needed to think. Sitting on a wooden bench in the sun, arms spread across the back, right ankle across his left knee, face tipped up again. Mmm, a few minutes of this would refresh the soul. He let the rays beat down warming his skin.

"Thought I'd find you here," a deep voice rumbled as the bench took on more weight.

Henry cracked open his left eye to the intruder. "Miss me already?" His thin lips curled up at the corners.

Walt mimicked Henry's position. "You see 'm leave?"

"Yes." Henry nodded his reply.

"You sure you're up to the task?" the Sheriff pointedly questioned.

"I would not have volunteered if I wasn't." Henry shifted his body turning toward his old friend. "The youth are our future. We need to guide them. Tommy's father still has two years left on his sentence. There is no responsible role model besides his mother, and she has admitted that she is lost as to what else to do."

Walt almost imperceptibly shook his head. "There's a whole lot'a that around. You can't take responsibility for every kid who takes a wrong turn."

Henry's lips pressed together. "No, but I can offer help when I can. There's an old saying, _It takes a village to raise a child_. Whether it's on the Rez, in Durant, or broader, we all have to take responsibility for our youth. Parents are not always around or capable of doing it. Sometimes people just need help."

Walt nodded. Tommy Two Feathers was a good example. Poverty had driven his father to petty theft which had escalated to breaking and entering into homes of some of the more affluent people in the town. He got caught and was presently serving a five-year sentence in the state penitentiary. That left Tommy and his mother alone struggling to make ends meet. Tommy's mother, Mary, worked as a maid at the Star Cross Motel just north of town which left Tommy to his own devices after school. Trouble follows the idle.

This afternoon, young Tommy quite literally got caught with his hand in the cookie jar – Miss Dorothy's cookie jar at the Busy Bee Café to be exact. His defense was that the double chocolate chip cookies in question were calling to him, and he had to save them from the fat truckers at the end of the counter. His smug expression and lack of remorse annoyed Walt who had first called Tommy's mother then called Henry who often worked as liaison between the Indians and the police. After meeting with the boy and mother, Henry had volunteered to oversee Tommy and put him to work at his establishment, The Red Pony, for a few hours after school and on the weekends when his mother worked. Give the boy some responsibility, a sense of purpose, a positive, male role model. Show him that life can be good, even better if you earn it.

Henry knew that all too well. He couldn't let the boy fall through the cracks of society.

"You know," Walt began, "he's too young to be in a bar. It's against the law."

Henry's lips twitched up again. "No problem, Sheriff. I'll give him a fake ID, make him grow that peach fuzz into a beard, and have him pouring beers in no time."

Walt snorted again, returning what would pass as a grin for the gruff man. "Ya know what I mean."

"Of course, I know," Henry replied leaning back. "I also run a restaurant. As we agreed in your office, he'll be sweeping floors and cleaning tables from after school until his mother picks him up around five. Weekends, she'll drop him off in the morning before her shift. If she has the day off, he stays with her. It's a good plan."

Walt's mouth was grim. He removed his Cattleman's hat and combed his fingers through his hair, replacing the hat on his head before rising to his feet. Casually looking over his right shoulder and down at his friend, his thumbs hooked in his pockets, he nodded before walking back to the station. On the sidewalk, Henry saw him bend to pick something off the ground – a cigarette butt. Henry smiled openly. Walt hated litter.


	4. Chapter 4 - Durant

**4 - Durant**

I'd been in the area for a few days. The tribal police officer had been right. Most campgrounds were still closed, but I did find a small, state run facility between Durant and Hyattville who let me park the camper. It was pretty cool, an archeological and historical site. Petroglyphs and pictographs, ancient native drawings and dig site. It was on the south edge of the Big Horn National Forest but was a cross between savannah and mountains, flat desert-like land with some amazing rock cliffs. A lot like home. I was content there and had begun to develop a friendly relationship with the rangers and historians who worked the site.

After setting up camp and a few days of familiarizing myself with the area, I drove the half hour into Durant to finally replace my tire.

It was a quaint town, a mix of old, original buildings and newer, more modern establishments; country wood and brick verses flashing, neon _We're Open_ signs.

Sugar and I wandered down Main Street looking in shop windows, killing time. Although the sun was high, it was still cool, and I wore a dark green hoodie over a pink t-shirt and black jeans. Stopping at my reflection in a fitness club window, I studied it carefully. Nothing to write home about. Nothing special. My sandy brown hair was cut short and tucked behind my ears. The usual. Easy to manage. But, it was beginning to grow out. I hadn't had it cut since leaving New York. My skin was pale. Years of being out in the sun had faded with months in a hospital. And, those months of immobility saw me pack on nearly thirty pounds. I cringed at the reflection wanting to look away. I had been fit, strong and muscular. I was used to being active, used to hard work. I missed it. The doctors had said that my physical conditioning was the reason I was healing so quickly. Bonus, I guess. That, and the fact that I refused to let my injuries get the better of me. I refused to stay in the wheelchair for long. Physio was a bitch but worth it. I was walking again, faster than they had anticipated.

As for the rest of it, I was used to having a pretty restricted diet, too. Two meals a day at best, at least when we were working which was most of the time. For the most part, we ate what the locals ate: lots of eggs, some chicken or goat, ugali or maize, hummus, a few root vegetables, some fruits, mandazi or some other sort of bread. Rice and stews were pretty common as they tended to fill you up easily. Sometimes, we got care packages from the Organization. Those were "treat" days, and we tended to shared them with others in the village. The staff at the hospital thought I was too thin and insisted on an IV and feeding me the worst food I'd ever eaten…and that says something as I'd eaten some pretty strange stuff. A colleague from The Secretariat proudly snuck in a fast food hamburger which I politely tried and which promptly made an unpleasant return visit. My stomach simply couldn't tolerate such a drastic change – high fat, processed food, but the hospital pushed food on me anyway sometimes having a nurse stand guard to make sure I finished it all. Now that I was on my own, I was able to modify and adjust my choices, to eat what I wanted, when I wanted, and I was starting to shed the pounds. Still, I hated how I looked. _Time_, they kept saying. _Give it time_. At least, none of the scars showed. They were all under the clothes. Thank heaven for small blessings.

Moving on, I circled around the town square. People milled about, stopping to chat, going on with their business, passing through on one of the several concrete paths, or resting on one of the many wooden benches. I chose a bench near the center of the square and tied Sugar to the arm rest. It was a good place to people watch while I waited for my car to be fixed.

A young mother, her long, blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, pushing a white and navy stroller wandered by, chatting animatedly into her Bluetooth. I chuckled as it looked like she was having quite the conversation with herself.

Two old men in heavy cardigans and worn trousers played a quiet game of checkers on another bench.

A frazzled looking mother and young teenage boy emerged from an almost hidden entrance between a clothing store and a fabric shop on Main Street. She didn't look very happy, and as I squinted, I noticed they'd exited the police station. I found a bit of humor where I shouldn't have and wondered what the boy could have done.

Further to my right and down a path, an older, native woman in well-worn clothes dug through a garbage can, a straggly dog looking hopefully up at her. She unearthed a take-out box and pulled out the remnants, feeding the hungry pup. My heart rose in my throat, and my humor instantly vanished. Even here there was poverty, often ignored. I reached down to stroke Sugar's head. I'd seen poverty at its extreme. I knew it existed everywhere. But, it shouldn't have to. Not here anyway.

I checked my watch. The garage had said the car would be ready within the hour. It was almost time.

A rumbling caught my attention as I prepared to stand. A light grey pickup pulled into a parking spot on the other side of the square and a young man got out. The head of a Golden Lab pup poked up from the flatbed and watched as the man walked away. It jumped up placing its front paws on the side of the gate and began to whine then barked, but the man ignored it. As I started to untied Sugar from the bench, one eye kept a concerned watch on the pup. Then, as quick as a flash, the pup jumped from the back of the truck. Scrambling feet, panicked yelp, it hung by its neck, the rope tied firmly to the crossbar.

"No. No. No. No. No." I dropped Sugar's leash and ran faster than I thought I could the hundred or so feet down the path to the truck scooping the terrified dog into my arms trying to give the rope some slack. The pup's paws flailed, sharp claws scratching my arms and chin, its feet finding no purchase. I struggled to hold him in one arm while trying to untie the rope with the other when another set of hands grabbed the panicked creature from me.

"I have him," a strong voice said. "Untie!"

My fingers worked quickly on the tightened knot until it finally gave way, the whole time the strong voice spoke soothingly calming the frightened pup.

"Okay, I've got it," I said, letting the rope drop.

The tall man knelt to put the pup on the ground and examined it while the crowd that had gathered applauded the heroic rescue. I knelt to stroke the pup's head. It was still shaking, gratefully licking whoever its tongue could reach.

"You poor thing," I crooned. Then, I asked the man "Is it normal for people to tie their animals in the back of their trucks?"

"Unfortunately, yes," he replied simply, satisfied that no lasting damage had been done.

"Hey, Injun!" an angry shout came from the other side of the crowd. "Whatch'u doin' with my dog?" The young man had returned.

The Indian stood tall, at least six feet, and looked down at the younger man. "Duke Patterson," he began calmly, but I could see his jaw flex in restrained anger. "Your dog nearly hung himself. You should know better than to put a young pup like that in the back. He'll earn his place there eventually, but not yet."

"Hey, Henry." The man calmed. "Didn't know it was you. He really try to hang himself?" He finally looked concerned for the dog, bending to pat its head as it scrambled at his knee.

"I am sure he just wanted to follow you," Henry said, softening slightly. "Animals grow attachments to people. They can be good ones. Strong, if nurtured properly. You have a dog here that loves you, Duke. He'll be loyal if treated well. Remember that."

The young man nodded.

"Besides," Henry began, "it wasn't me who saved your dog. It was…" He turned, but I had already gone, backed out through the crowd, unseen, while the confrontation between the men was still heated. I didn't need or want acknowledgement. The pup was safe. That's all that mattered.

I limped back to the bench, my right leg and back feeling the strain that I had just put it through, and finished untying a patient Sugar.

"Sorry, sweetie," I apologized nuzzling into her neck. "Some people don't deserve to have animals."

"And some people should stick around to be thanked." That strong, calm voice was behind me.

Placing my hands on my knees, I stifled a groan trying to straighten up. Turning, I had to tip my head back a bit to see his face.

"I don't want thanks," I said taking Sugar's leash and starting to limp away.

"You're new around here," he said. "It's not tourist season. Are you just passing through?"

"Yes," I replied. "Blew a tire. Had to get it fixed."

"Did you take it to Nate's?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the garage.

I smiled politely wanting to move on. "Yes." It had been recommended by the park ranger out at Medicine Lodge, but I wasn't about to tell a stranger where I was staying.

"Nate does good work. I'm Henry." He held his hand out, a friendly gesture, a warm smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Henry." I cautiously shook his hand. "I have to get going. My car should be ready by now."

Henry's eyebrows rose at the lack of a return introduction, then he noticed the limp. "You're hurt." With two, long strides, he was beside me.

"Old injury," I replied casually. _Ya,_ I thought sardonically, _a whole ten months old. _

We walked in silence until we reached the sidewalk.

"Why the harness?" He noticed that although Sugar wore a collar, her leash was strapped to a harness around her body.

I stopped, turning to him, quietly but firmly answering, "How would you like it if someone pulled you around by the neck? Animals should be treated with respect. Avoid harm or indignity where you can."

Henry looked at me with an expression I couldn't explain. He probably thought I was nuts, so I started to walk away again.

"Would you have coffee with me?" he suddenly asked.

Taken aback, I turned and replied, "I don't drink coffee."

"Tea, then? Hot chocolate? A soda? Ice water?" He smiled as the list grew, absently acknowledging a passer-by who greeted him.

"Thank you for the invitation." I noticed the wave. "But, I don't know you from the next guy. For all I know, you could be a serial killer looking for his next victim." But, in my gut, I knew that was wrong. I sensed a gentle soul.

He snorted a small laugh that reached his eyes and walked with me to the garage creating small talk along the way. He greeted Nate with a hearty handshake.

"Hey, Henry," Nate returned, clapping the Indian on the shoulder. "Long time, no see. That truck of yours has more lives than a cat."

Henry's smile grew. "Indeed. It has spirit. Is this lovely lady's car ready yet?" He gestured toward me.

"Yup. About ten minutes ago."

I paid the mechanic and as Nate went to fetch the keys, Henry held out his hand again. I took it more easily this time, and he held on for a moment giving it a slow shake.

"It was a pleasure meeting you," he quietly said. "I hope we run into each other again. If not, have a safe trip wherever the road may take you."

"Thank you," I replied as I took the keys from Nate and headed to my car.

"Quiet for a woman," Nate said as they watched me leave.

"Mmm," Henry replied taking note of the car as I drove off.


	5. Chapter 5 - New Friends

**5 – New Friends**

One hour out. One hour back. The trail that Ranger Ethan Ford had plotted for me was one that might have taken some people less time to do, but Sugar and I stopped often, and I read ever plaque that pointed out an artifact, drawing, plant, whatever. I have such a patient dog. We stopped to watch some cottontail rabbits, of which Sugar dearly wanted to chase, and rested under a budding cottonwood tree. Such a beautiful morning.

I had spent my time at Medicine Lodge reading up on the area, fascinated with the history and angered by the disrespect that the native people had been subjected to. It's universal how superiority is often equated with fire-power and might. The Battle of Little Bighorn Monument in Montana had been a good example of that, and I had spent the entire day there wandering the grounds, listening to the speakers, reading the literature, but had found it commercial and a bit one sided. Here, the land had been bought in order to create a nature reserve and people were discovering artifacts, trying to preserve a fading native culture. It was being done with care and respect, and I was impressed.

Heading back toward the Welcome Center, I spotted Ethan and historian Samantha Burke going over the plans for a new gazebo they wanted to build on the front lawn, materials piled in a heap outside the main building, the form marked out on the ground.

We waved to each other, and I headed in their direction.

"Nice walk?" Ethan asked catching the plans as the breeze tried to take them. He was a solidly built man in his mid-thirties, sun-streaked reddish hair; the type of appearance that makes you think of Opie from The Andy Griffith Show, if you were that old to remember.

"Very nice, thank you." I smiled shielding my eyes from the sun. Gesturing to the plans, I added, "Looks like you have a new project."

Samantha, a thirty-year-old natural bombshell, her auburn ponytail pulled through the back of her State Park ball cap, a line of freckles across her nose, beamed at Nathan who frowned back.

"We made the request a month ago, and the state finally sent the plans and materials, but not the manpower. We have to put it together ourselves."

"Your typical put peg A into slot B," Ethan groaned. "The instructions read like they're written in Chinese." He shook the papers in frustration and gazed with contempt at the pile of lumber and hardware.

"We already have some school groups booked, and three out-of-town tourist groups scheduled to come in. I'd really love to have this finished before we open next week." She looked hopefully at the irritated man.

He sighed, and a crooked smile crept up the left side of his mouth. "How could I turn down that face?" He shrugged at me.

Samantha grinned as her cell phone rang, and she excused herself to answer it.

"You read Chinese?" Ethan snorted to me as he tucked the plans under a beam on the pile.

"A little," I laughed as he wandered back to the main building, shoulders slumped, hands pushed deep into his coat pockets.

An hour later, Ethan emerged to find the lumber and hardware sorted, and the frame of the foundation laid. I was busy screwing the floor slats onto the frame when he came up behind me.

"Holy cow!" he exclaimed. "You _do_ read Chinese!"

I laughed shaking my head. "It's in English," I reassured. "You just have to know how to decipher it. I hope I'm not overstepping my bounds. Samantha showed me yesterday where she wanted to put it."

"It's perfect," he beamed. "You know you don't have to," he explained. "I'd've gotten around to it."

"I know." I smiled back. "Considered it payback for letting me stay. Grab a screw driver. Nothing on this requires a hammer."

Ethan and I worked side by side until the sun was high overhead, and when the platform was done and railing was on, we stopped to rest.

"You're good," he praised taking a sip of water from a reusable bottle. "Where'd you learn to do this? You're dad a carpenter or something?"

"No." I shook my head. "I've just built a few things like this before. Pretty easy once you get the hang of it." _Ya, I had a few schools and a multitude of shelters under my belt._

Dust kicked up behind the pale green pickup as it bounced down the 50. The road wasn't a highway, just an empty stretch of asphalt that connected two towns. Someone had named it years ago, but the name never stuck. For too many years it was simply _The 50_. Everyone knew it.

Henry tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, an old Brooks and Dunn song blasting from the tape deck, _My Kind of Crazy_. He'd been busy watching over his new charge and trying to fix the sound system at the Red Pony which had conveniently broken after the Kick Shickers played the other night. Something told him that the head-banging country band didn't have too many fans in his establishment, and one, if not more, of the patrons had pulled the speaker wires to shut them up. Henry had to admit, the band proved to be horrible, but he had wanted to give them a chance. Well, the chance was over.

Pulling off the road and into the spacious parking lot of the Medicine Lodge State Park, Henry drove straight up to the Welcome Center.

"Good Lordy, Henry, don't you ever work?" Ethan dropped his screwdriver and met the Indian half way, clasping his hand and giving it an energetic shake.

Henry smiled broadly. "I am constantly working. I merely have too many jobs." Nodding to the half built gazebo, he added. "It looks like you have different jobs, too? Impressive. A nice addition. Who is your helper?"

Ethan turned back to the gazebo. I was on my hands and knees, cap down over my eyes, leveling a bench that we were about to attach. "Julia." He smiled as I glanced over my left shoulder. "A guest. Knows her way around these stupid things." He gestured to the structure. "Don't know if I would have had the patience to do this without her. Samantha abandoned me." He comically huffed.

Henry chuckled. It was well known to everyone except Samantha that Ethan had a crush on her. "I did not think you were open for guests yet?" Henry pointed out.

"We're not, but she needed a place to stay." He shrugged. "She's nice, and Samantha took to her. I didn't see any harm in it."

"Henry!" Samantha emerged from the large, glass doors of the main building, the excitement radiated from her. "Come. I have something to show you." She grabbed his arm and dragged him into the Welcome Center. "I wanted you to see it before I sent it out to be processed." She eagerly ushered him through the information center and open museum in the main building to the artifact room in the back.

For the next hour, she chattered about the ancient, beaded bag that had been uncovered, _in impeccable condition_ she prided, where it had been found, how old it might be. Henry examined the beadwork and established that it was probably Lakota. Even though the Lakota were presently further north in Montana, the tribes back then, before reservations, had been nomadic. But, the beadwork was distinct.

Samantha was thrilled with the discovery, had logged the find, and was ready to send it to the state science center for official documenting before it could be returned to the site museum.

As Henry strode back to his truck, he spotted Julia with Sugar playing fetch along the park road taking a break from the construction work. Julia favored her right leg as the Lab excitedly bounced around her feet wanting the stick in her hand. The dog gave chase as she launched the stick into the air. Retrieving it from the ground, and happily trotting back to her owner, Sugar dropped it at her feet waiting for another toss.

Henry leaned on the door of his truck watching, debating whether he should go talk to her again or not. He wanted to. She had said that she was just passing through. Well, camping at the state park would qualify as not being here permanently. He could just go say hello.

"So, what are you waiting for?' Ethan grinned looking back and forth between Julia and Henry, his hands back in the pockets of his park jacket. "Come on, I'll introduce you."

Leading the way, Ethan bent to pat Sugar's head as she came to greet him. Stopping about a yard from Julia and with a slight flourish of his right hand, he began.

"Julia," he stated formally, "This is Henry. He does some consulting work for us at the museum from time to time. Henry, Julia. Umm, I'm going to go check on Samantha." He clapped Henry on the arm, smiled at Julia, and walked back to the main building, whistling.

"Hello, Henry," Julia smirked playfully. "Subtle, isn't he."

"At least I got your name this time. You were elusive the last time we met." He took the stick from Sugar and tossed it down the road. The dog happily gave chase.

"Sorry. I travel a lot, and I've learned to be careful around strangers." I explained. He was a handsome man, I noted, couldn't have been more than forty, forty-five, it was hard to tell. Tall, slim, short black hair, heart-shaped face, high cheek bones, deep, dark eyes. The kind that shine into the soul. And, that voice… so smooth.

"I would like it if we were not strangers anymore. You are still around, and it looks like you have some work ahead of you. The offer for a drink…or a meal is still open. Maybe tonight or tomorrow? When did you plan on moving on?"

I chuckled lightly. "Tomorrow," I said seeing his face drop. "However, as you've observed, I've started something, and I don't want to leave it unfinished." I gestured to the gazebo. "Ethan and Samantha have been kind to me. I'd like to have it done before they open next week."

Henry nodded, a slight upward curve to his thin lips. "Good, so, you will be around for a while longer?"

I nodded back. "A while."


	6. Chapter 6 - Dinner Is Served

**6 – Dinner is served**

Ethan and I worked on the gazebo until dinner, stopped for the evening, then began the task again the following morning. By mid-afternoon the second day, it was nearly done, and Ethan had other work to do, so we called it quits for the time being and went our separate ways.

I took the opportunity to drive into Durant to pick up some groceries and refill my medication. Clouds were beginning to roll in making the temperature dip slightly, but it was still very pleasant. Sugar and I strolled down Main Street, and I paused outside the Busy Bee Café thinking. Tying the dog to the lamp post, I went into the time-capsule diner, the little bell above the door jingling: black and white checked linoleum, polished red and white counters and table tops edged with chrome, red vinyl seats and stools, glass-domed pastry displays, and an old cash register behind one end of the counter. The place had charm and looked like it was frozen in the fifties. On a large, black chalk board above the short-order window behind the counter, the specials of the day were proudly displayed.

An older woman, probably in her late sixties, her silver-streaked black hair sharply pulled back in a bun from her painfully thin face was standing at the short-order window talking with the cook. It was after lunch, and there were only a handful of people in the diner. I caught sight of a young man sitting alone in a booth by the window gazing absently at me. _Strangers must be an odd sight in this small town_, I figured.

The woman approached as I was looking over the choices on the board.

"What can I get ya, Honey?" she greeted.

"The meatloaf looks good. To go, please." I placed my order.

She gave the order to the cook, and I heard rattling in the kitchen.

"Not from around here, are ya?" she made small talk as the meal was being prepared.

"No," I stated simply.

"Well, ya made a good choice. My meatloaf is the best in town. Served with mashed potatoes and gravy, peas and a homemade biscuit," she assured as the bell on the counter rung signaling that it was ready. Taking it from the kitchen ledge, she took it to the cash. "That'll be $5.75."

I paid the woman and took the container with the plastic fork and knife outside. Untying Sugar from the post, we crossed the street, and I carefully chose a bench in the park. Sitting on one end and looping Sugar's leash to the armrest, I put the container on the seat beside me.

Stroking Sugar's head, I kept my eyes forward and began conversationally, "Dogs are such good companions. They take you as you are. No judgments. Just a lot of love."

The old, native woman looked at me, her own dog sniffing the meatloaf-scented air between us.

I sat, relaxed, waiting a moment before continuing. "Life can be hard," I sighed and slowly stood, unhooking Sugar's leash. Looking straight at the old woman in her worn-out coat and scuffed shoes, I smiled kindly. "Doesn't always have to be, though."

Walking away, I left the take-out container on the seat beside the woman. When I reached my car and opened the back door to left Sugar in, I glanced back at her and her scraggly dog. Her dark eyes curiously followed me as she put her hand on the take-out box. My lips curled up in a quiet smile, and I nodded at her before getting in the car. She smiled back, gingerly took the box onto her lap and opened it. I could almost hear her light cackle of glee as she broke off a piece of the biscuit and fed it to the hungry dog.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Red Pony

**7 – The Red Pony**

I'd discovered that pretty much all of the roads in the area were straight forward connecting point A to point B. So, the road that took me north, out of town, toward the Cheyenne Reservation, was no exception.

During our conversation yesterday, Henry had invited me to a place called The Red Pony, where he worked. It was a bar and grill between the Rez, as he called it, and the town. I figured that being the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday, it would be pretty quiet, and therefore, a safe bet that I wouldn't disturb anyone at their job.

Pulling off the road at the large, red, neon sign of a running horse, my little Ford Escort jolted onto the packed dirt drive and parking lot. The Red Pony was a rustic building, polished wood and beams, two benches lined either side of the red door that served as the entrance, animal horns and western signs decorated the front of the building, and what looked like a hitching post ran the length of the front between the support posts. It was located in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere but was only about ten minutes out of town. Dry dirt and tall, brown grass surrounded it. My grin turned into a light chuckle. _Raha Mahali Fulani_ on the road between Wajir and El Wak had the same feel – secluded – but a popular oasis in the desert. It was a local joke that Raha, the Somali owner, had named the place _"somewhere"_, because then people had "somewhere" to go. It was a great place, and I continued to grin at the memory.

A tall man in jeans, dark brown coat, and a brown Cattleman's hat leaned against the hood of a scuffed up, brown and white, Ford Brocho with the Absaroka County Sheriff's logo on the side. He was talking with Henry, and as I drove in, they looked up. Henry flashed a bright smile, saying something to the other man before moving to the driver's side of my car.

"Welcome," he cheerily greeted as he opened the car door. "I am glad you decided to come."

I made sure the back windows were rolled down some for the dog before getting out and locking the doors.

I smiled back. "The car had a mind of its own. I was in Durant, and before I knew it, I was heading out here. I hope you don't mind. You didn't specify when it would be convenient."

"Anytime is convenient." He gestured that we move toward the Sheriff. "Walt, this is Julia. Julia, our esteemed sheriff, Walt Longmire."

I held out my hand in greeting. "It's a pleasure to meet you." He shook it hesitantly, almost shyly. "I hope there's no trouble." I turned to Henry.

"No," he assured with a smile. "Walt and I are old friends. I am helping someone out, and Walt was just checking on the situation."

"I gotta go," the sheriff quietly stated moving to get into his truck. "Pleasure to meet you, Ma'am." He tipped his hat to me. "Call me if you need anything," he directed to Henry.

They nodded at each other before the sheriff drove off.

Henry gently placed his hand on the center of my back steering me toward The Red Pony.

"Come on in. I will give you a tour," he invited pleasantly.

As we turned, a sharp, double bang sounded, and I hit the dirt grabbing hold of Henry's sleeve and dragging him to the ground with me. My eyes were wide, searching the area, my feet still solidly under my crouch ready to run. Henry placed his hand on my shaking arm.

"Hey," he said quietly. "Hey, it's okay. It was just a truck backfiring."

My eyes did another quick survey seeing an old pickup clanking down the main road. I looked at Henry and pressed my lips together, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly through my nose.

He put his hand under my elbow and gently helped me to my feet.

"Some reflexes," he said concerned with my reaction. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." I closed my eyes for a second shaking my head at myself. "Now that I've completely embarrassed myself."

"Nonsense. Quick reflexes are good." He smiled reassuringly as we entered the building.

Henry guided me around the restaurant and bar, introducing me to Kelly, the blond, twenty-something waitress, and Carl, the cook who looked like he belonged in a military mess. Tommy was sweeping the floor near a large pool table at one end of the long room. I remembered him from a few days ago, the boy with his mother coming out of the police station. _Was this the "someone" Henry was helping out?_ I wondered.

Leading me to a table near a shiny jukebox, Henry pulled out a chair for me to sit.

"You didn't ask," I cautiously said watching for his reaction.

"If you want to tell me, you will. Otherwise, you are entitled to your privacy." He sat opposite, casually leaning back, seriously studying me. "Mathias said that you have been travelling. That you are far from home," he began conversationally.

My brow furrowed. "Who's Mathias?"

"Chief of the Tribal Police. He helped you with your tire. He said you were either brave or stupid for wandering so far onto Cheyenne land alone." He held his hands up at my raised eyebrows and bristled back. "His words, not mine." He smiled. "Personally, I think he was impressed by how far you have journeyed. Though, with Mathias, I doubt he would admit it."

My lips curled up uneasily, a bit wary that I had been talked about. "And here, I thought he was nice for helping me. Not a man of many words."

Henry nodded. "He is a good man. Strong minded. Devoted to his people."

"Proud and tough were the words that came to my mind. I don't regret my choice, but I suppose it was foolish. I should know better but following the beaten path is not my forte. The land around here is amazing, and I got distracted. And, for the most part, the people I've met have been kind and generous. I guess I just didn't foresee the consequences." I'd let my guard down and that could get me killed. I was losing my touch. Not good.

"Where are you from? He said you had a map and had travelled far but didn't say where you started."

"I started in New York City." My expression clearly showed that New York was not where I wanted to be.

"Not a city girl I take it," Henry chuckled lightly.

"Not even close. It's a long story and not one I'm sure I want to tell. Suffice it to say, I'm a gypsy, living in a two-person camper, travelling the United States, exploring."

"No family? No job?" he asked lightly.

I smiled broadly. "Is that the serial killer asking?"

He laughed, a good, hearty laugh, deep from his chest. "Kelly." He signaled the waitress who immediately came over. "Am I a dangerous man?"

"You?" she snorted loudly then turned to me. "Honey, you couldn't get much safer. Henry's a fixture in these parts, been here forever, best friends with the Sheriff. A good man." She winked at me. "Can I get you two something?"

Henry and I both ordered ice tea and as she went to fill our orders, I comically asked, "You pay her to say that?" He just grinned.

For the next hour, we sat munching on pretzels and sipping our tea. I asked about the area and the people. He asked about my travels and tried to get at the root of why I was on sabbatical. He didn't pump for information, but I could tell he was curious.

Slowly people began to trickle in, and he asked if I would like to stay for dinner.

"Don't you have to get to work?" I asked. "Won't your boss notice?"

Henry shrugged. "My work gets done," he explained. "And, we make the best burgers and cheesy fries around."

I watched as a heaping plate of something came out of the kitchen to be served to a table of three young men.

"Is that the usual portion?"

"This is the West. We do things big."

"Do you have kiddie sizes?" I laughed. Big portions. Greasy food. Beef? Things I was still having problems with.

"Tell you what. You tell me what you would like, and I'll make it personally."

"They'll let you in the kitchen? What exactly do you do here?"

He smiled openly. "Pretty much everything."


	8. Chapter 8 - Leaving Out The Details

**8 – Leaving Out The Details**

"She's nice," Kelly commented as she dried the glasses she had just washed.

It was after midnight, and although it hadn't been a busy night, there had been a constant flow of people. Henry was at the cash going over receipts. He kept his head down, counting, but he heard.

"Why didn't you tell her?" Kelly continued placing the dried glasses on the shelf. "And, she left before she could see you in action." She grinned. Henry had had to break up a fight and toss two fellows out before they broke the place up.

"There was no need to tell her." He placed the counted receipts in an envelope by the register.

Kelly stopped, tossing the dish towel over her left shoulder, and turned to her boss with one hand on her hip, the other leaning on the counter.

"Henry," she began, "You're a good looking man, with an easy personality and a great business. Everyone in town knows who you are. You're respected. Why didn't you tell her you owned the place?"

Henry's lips quirked up at the corners as he turned to the waitress. "You think I'm good looking?" he teased.

"Ya," she quipped back, "for an old guy." She pulled the dish rag off her shoulder and snapped it at him.

He jumped back slightly and shook an amused finger at her, but answered her question. "I did not say anything for the exact reasons you stated. Everyone knows me. They make judgments and expectations based on that. She accepted me for who I am, not what I have. I appreciated that."

"Too bad she had to leave. She looked a bit nervous when more people came in."

Henry nodded slowly. He had noticed that, too. "Maybe she does not like crowds."

"I got to talk to her a bit when you were making her dinner. Gave her directions to the Upper Cut. She said I was the second person to recommend it so she's going to get her hair cut tomorrow. She also said something about hitting the road again on Friday. Too bad. It would be nice if she stayed a while longer." She smirked at her boss.

"She has an appointment in New York City in June and has a few more stops to make before she gets there." Henry ignored the smirk, absently toying with the receipt book.

"I think it's so cool what she's doing. Brave. I'd be scared to death that something would happen to me. You hear so much about people disappearing or being kidnapped." Kelly shuddered. "And she already blew the tire. Lucky Mathias was there. Could have been different if it was someone else."

Henry's eyes clouded over, and the muscles in his neck tightened. He'd thought of that too, but hearing someone else say it made the worry more real. He'd just met her, yet he felt a deep connection like he'd never felt before. Cliché but true.

"I am sure she'll be fine," he reassured.

Kelly finished cleaning behind the bar and left with a quick good-bye, leaving Henry heading to his office with the books. Carl had left about two hours earlier.

The place was quiet. The doors locked. Only the hum of the florescent bar light could be heard in the back room. Henry sat in the chair behind his desk, right elbow on the armrest, fingers tapping his lips. Julia had opened up after a while, but he could tell she held some things back. She was funny and intelligent, and seemed to genuinely care about others. He liked her personal philosophy about being responsible. And, she definitely cared about the earth and animals. That came through loud and clear when they had talked about the land. He smiled. Things in common.

She had grown up in New Hampshire, gone to university there, graduating in Political Science. He couldn't see her as a politician, and she had just smiled coyly. International Policy. A humanitarian. His smile grew. He should have guessed. A warm feeling built in his chest. She had worked oversees, primarily in Kenya, until an accident had brought her home. She was on medical leave. That explained the limp. She wouldn't go into details. Even so, their two-hour conversation had flown by, and when she announced that she had to leave, he found that he didn't want the conversation to end. And when she said she'd be leaving on Friday, it felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. He didn't let on. Played it easy. After all, they'd only just met, he tried to convince himself. He shuffled the papers on his desk and piled them neatly in the basket on the corner. Maybe he'd take a drive out to Medicine Lodge tomorrow, just to see how Samantha was getting on the beaded bag; ya right…one last chance to talk with Julia. Who was he fooling?


	9. Chapter 9 - Nerves

**9 - Nerves**

Henry's pale green pickup raced down the 50. He couldn't remember the last time he had risen so early in the morning. The sun sat brilliantly on the horizon promising another beautiful day, but he tapped the steering wheel nervously. Nerves. When was the last time he'd shown nerves? He couldn't remember. Not even when he had tracked Walt to Denver over a year ago, and he _knew_ that would end badly. But, this? Over a woman he barely knew? Ridiculous. But, here he was, bright and early, speeding down the road making a forty-five minute drive in less than half an hour.

Yesterday had gotten away from him. It seemed to be one minor crisis after another, and he never did make it to Medicine Lodge. He hoped with the depth of his soul that Julia hadn't left yet.

Spotting the State Park sign in the distance on the right, he gunned the engine and sprinted the last mile, taking the turn into the entrance at a skid, kicking up dirt and dust, slowing only enough not to flip the truck. In the distance, at the Welcome Center, he spotted Julia's blue Ford Escort pulling the camper away from the building, Ethan and Samantha waving as she drove off.

He slowed again and skidded the truck across the path in front of the oncoming car. Hopping out, he held his hands in front of him motioning that she stop. When she did, he strode to the driver's side. Julia turned the car off and got out.

"Are you all right?" she asked, worried at the serious look on the man's face. He was breathing hard, obviously trying to control himself.

"I thought I was going to miss you. I had intended to come yesterday, but there were problems that needed my immediate attention."

"You don't need to explain to me." A warm smile spread on her face. "But, I'm glad you came. It felt odd not saying good-bye."

He smiled, finally calming. "I know what you mean." He didn't want to say good-bye but not doing it felt empty, like something incomplete. It would have nagged at him. "Here," he said pressing a slip of paper into her hand. "My e-mail address and my phone number. If you need anything, anything," he repeated, "you call. Reverse the charges if you must. Do not be shy about it."

Julia unfolded the paper and looked at the numbers. Her chest tightened, then her throat. She could feel a well of tears starting behind her eyes. When was the last time someone cared enough to go this far for her? It was just a number. _This is ridiculous_, she thought. _You just met the man._

"Thank you." Her voice was barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat. "Thank you," she said more clearly looking directly at him.

In a moment of shared universe, they both stepped forward to embrace. Henry's strong arms wrapped around Julia's body and she wrapped hers around his waist. They held on for a silent moment, feeling some kind of connection, but then let go and took a step back.

"Be safe," Henry quietly spoke with that smooth voice Julia had warmed to. He pointed at her and smiled. "Call. E-mail. I would feel better knowing that you are safe."

Julia reached up and cupped Henry's cheek, her thumb gently stroking the high bone. "I will," she said, hesitating at her next words. "_Una roho ya upole_. You have a gentle soul," she translated at his questioning eyes. "It's a Swahili . _Kwaheri,_ Henry. _Mpaka tukutane tena_." She smiled. "Good-bye, until we meet again."

"How about just – until we meet again." Henry placed his hand over hers and held it to his cheek. "I do not like good-byes."

"Sounds good to me. Until we meet again, and yes, I'll at least e-mail."

Henry let go and put his hand through the back window of the Escort, ruffling Sugar's head then headed back to his car as Julia got in hers. Following each other out to the main road, they waved then turned in opposite directions. For Julia, this was normal; always leaving. She had once had her team but this new life was lonely. But hey, it was what it was. Life goes on. Maybe someday it will change.


End file.
